Introduction

Over 30 years ago my father sat down with my grandfather and had him recount some of the stories from his long life. My grandfather David was in his eighties, and living in Nevada, Missouri. (Pronounced Neh-VAY-da.) The stories were captured on long-gone cassette tapes and I had transcribed them onto legal-length yellow paper.

After Dovie and I were married and I was going through The Salvation Army's School for Officers Training in Chicago I took a creative writing class and Dovie agreed to transcribe my handwritten notes in some more chronological fashion into more legible typed notes. I used these notes (unsuccessfully - after multiple revisions I never got the viewpoint consistent) for the beginning of telling Papa's Story more completely. I never got beyond the following, but this blog will at least transcribe his stories another time for more to read.

Here is the ill-fated attempt at creative writing, combined with Grandpa's actual words (in quotes), and other research. This week's post:


My grandfather David was born David Adam Hochstetler on August 13, 1895 in Fayette County, Illinois, near Vandalia, the youngest of eight children. His mother Catherine, who was 35, and his father Adam, who was 33, had been married for almost ten years. Eight children in ten years was not unusual for Old Order Amish families; Adam was the oldest of twelve children.

Old Order Amish is a branch of the Swiss Anabaptist movement that fled Europe because of persecution. They settled primarily in Pennsylvania, but  had (and still have) communities in Ohio, Indiana, and other midwestern states.

The day came when Adam gathered the family together. Lena and Lydia, the two oldest girls, tended to the preparations for breakfast. The chores had been completed and everyone was hungry. "Grandpa Hochstetler had purchased quite a bit of land in Brown County, Indiana. Father got part, Uncle Joe and Sam and Levi got part. Enough for each to have a good farm to move onto, with buildings."

Adam could not tell the children the nature of Catherine's illness. It was of a kind that usually would only cause a few days of discomfort. But Catherine had worked so hard in preparation for the move, when she should have taken things easier. The children were not old enough to realize the seriousness of the situation,

On September 23, 1896 Catherine died. David was just over a year old, and what he would be told about his mother's death was very little. "Mother died in the process of getting ready to move from Illinois to Indiana. Others spoke of mother as being a small-like woman." From what was not said it is likely that there was hemorrhaging from complications that began with David's birth.


It had been three days since Catherine had died. Members of the local Amish community began to take over responsibilities of the household. Women prepared the food for the family and took care of the youngest children. Some Amish families would come by to sit in silent respect and support for the family. Young men handled all the chores and responsibilities of the farm while the family was left to grieve.

The burial would take place in the Amish cemetary at the top of a hill. At the end of September in Illinois the leaves are at their most colorful, and it would normally be a pretty drive along the stream that the road followed. A long procession of horse-drawn buggies came down the road.

At the end of the dirt road another road crossed. The procession stopped. The four pallbearers carried the pine casket to the top of a small hill. Next to the grave of the last Amish person to die was a recently dug grave. Slowly the men lowered the casket that contained the body of Catherine into the ground. She had been dressed completely in white; the family made the clothes she wore, the dress and hat. The cape and apron were the same ones she had worn on her wedding day.

Slowly the group turned to leave, and the relatives followed the family back to the house. For the first time since Catherine died the family would prepare a meal for everyone. This indicated the resumption of normal duties, the end of the funeral. The black clothes of mourning would be worn by the family for the next year.

[Years later, while I was visiting a friend near Vandalia he and I spent a hot afternoon searching through a field for the Amish cemetery where I eventually found Catherine's gravemarker at which I laid some wildflowers and took several photos.]


After a week the family loaded the wagon with their remaining belongings. Other personal property had already been shipped to Indiana by boxcar. After all the children were comfortably settled, with Lena (the oldest) taking care of the baby David, Adam climbed onto the driver's seat, unraveled the reins and unfastened the brake to the buggy. He was painfully aware of the empty seat beside him. It seemed as if it could never be filled again, and indeed it never would be.

When the house disappeared from view the family rode in silence, their thoughts focused on what lay ahead for them in Indiana.